


There's No Shame In It

by SunstruckSeraph



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, One Shot, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Short One Shot, Touch-Starved, Touch-Starved Moritz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26040598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunstruckSeraph/pseuds/SunstruckSeraph
Summary: Moritz spends nights at Melchior's whenever he can, languishing under the pretense of homework. While it's true that Melchior is happy to oblige in that department, that isn't why either of them look forward to Moritz's visits.__AKA Moritz wakes up from a nightmare, comfort and homoerotic tension ensue.
Relationships: Melchior Gabor/Moritz Stiefel
Comments: 6
Kudos: 36





	There's No Shame In It

**Author's Note:**

> Melchior's a little bit manipulative in this one, but not overwhelmingly so. I tried to keep them both in character while balancing the dreamy tone of this piece. Let me know how I did in the comments!

Melchior awoke to the weight of Moritz crawling into bed next to him. It was a common occurrence, common enough that Melchior barely thought before he slid over as far as the narrow twin bed would allow and turned so that he was facing his friend. Moritz spent nights at Melchior's whenever he could, languishing under the pretense of homework. While it was true that Melchior was happy to oblige in that department, that wasn't why either of them looked forward to Moritz's visits.

Melchior caught the stricken look on Moritz's face in the patch of silvery moonlight that fell across one side of the bed. He opened his arms and only spoke when Moritz was nestled snugly between them.

"Another night terror?"

Melchior didn't force a response. Moritz was still relaxing into him and that was a delicate thing that he didn't want to disturb. Moritz was always starved for the simplest forms of affection, aching for a hand laced with his or tangled in his dark hair or rubbing gentle circles on his stomach. And yet, some combination of nerves and shame prevented him from seeking that relief from anyone except Melchior, who was far too happy to offer it.

Already, Moritz's scent was making itself comfortable on the covers and pillows. Melchior took note and knew that he would press his face into the bed later, longing, reaching for the lingering reminder that Moritz had been so close. Melchior could feel the other boy's shoulders soften and unwind from their usual tightness and heard a gentle sigh that was half muffled by his chest.

"It was awful," Moritz finally said in a small voice, barely breaking a whisper.

Melchior sat up slightly against the pillows, pulling Moritz onto him so the boy was laying more flush on top of him than by his side. It was calculated. Poor Moritz was meekly pliable, always skittish, but so starved for the comfort Melchior offered him that he was almost too easy to lead into temptation. Melchior could feel the shape of him better now, the weight of his lanky body. He noted, with concealed disappointment, that Moritz had fallen asleep in his collared shirt and britches. Then again, he had too. It had been a long day. Still, he missed the light, airy fabric of Moritz's nightshirt, the way it revealed his form, its openness and the ease of touch that allowed.

"Go on," he said, slipping a hand under Moritz's shirt to rub up and down the curve at the small of his back.

Moritz sighed shakily and lifted his head, bracing his hands against his friend's chest. They could have been eye to eye, nose to nose, but Moritz was too embarrassed. His chin remained tilted towards his chest, which still did very little to alleviate the slow, tight warmth that gathered in Melchior's low belly. Moritz's dark curls, tousled from sleep, brushed against his nose. His breath fell far too close to Melchior's mouth, his fingers found their purchase in Melchior's white shirt, unbuttoned to the third button before he had fallen into bed. God, the weight of him. 

He was taller than Melchior, just by a little bit, but he didn't feel it when they laid down together. He drew himself in, pulled himself closer, tighter, fitting around Melchior like someone half his size.

"It's shameful to talk about such things," Moritz mumbled, more to his hands than to his friend.

"There's no shame in what your mind conjures up while you're asleep," Melchior replied gently.

"But there's...there's shame in this vision. The one I had. The one I keep having."

Oh God, he was tugging at his own bottom lip with his teeth, a gesture that might have looked like forced cockiness on Hanschen or Otto, but only broadcasted further innocence in his case. Melchior needed him closer. He tucked two fingers under Moritz's chin and raised it slowly, guiding the boy's line of sight to meet his own, mingling their quiet breaths.

"You have my attention," he stated firmly.

Melchior could have taken his hand from Moritz's chin and been sure that the other boy would at least try to keep holding his eyes, but he lingered, more to feed his own desires than for any other reason. His fingers stroked the underside of Moritz's chin, the top of his throat. His thumb traced Moritz's bottom lip, feather light. His fingers were gentle, soothing, but firm. 

"It was the stockings," Moritz whispered against Melchior's thumb.

Even in the dusky light, Melchior could see Moritz's cheeks flush.

"They came back, worse than ever. There were...more than just one pair this time. They taunted me, two sets of legs wrapped in blue."

His voice quivered slightly and Melchior moved the hand at his throat to stroke through his hair, hoping to calm him.

"They chased me, taunting, taunting. They forced me to choose, which set I wanted to..."

The shame of recalling the vivid dream stole Moritz's words for a moment.

"Yes?" Melchior prompted, still petting his friend's curls.

"Which set I wanted to...open."

"And did you?" Melchior asked innocently.

Moritz's English and Latin grades might not have reflected it, but he had a way with words, an ability to weave them together in long, gripping swaths. It was no coincidence that the girls, Thea and Anna in particular, had enjoyed listening to him tell stories in the evenings of summers past, when the boys and girls intermingled more often. Moritz was no author and hardly a scholar, but the heat in Melchior's stomach flared at the thought of coaxing a description of the legs and their whims out of him.

"Sort of," Moritz said, "But Melchi, it--"

He looked stricken.

"It wasn't--! One of them--!"

Melchior shushed him gently, punctuating the soft sound with a hand cupping his neck, a thumb stroking the side, just under his jaw.

"Easy. Find the words," he said gently.

"One of them was a man's legs," Moritz whispered, barely audible.

Melchior stifled a gasp. Moritz would shrink back if he thought Melchior felt his shame, withdraw, maybe even return to the makeshift bed on the floor. That wouldn't do. Besides, it wasn't shame that caused Melchior to start. It was something else, something between vindication and a dark, viscous excitement.

"And what's the matter with that?" Melchior asked, continuing his slow caress of Moritz's neck, the hand at his back steady.

"I...it's wrong, isn't it?"

"Who told you that?"

Moritz paused, considering.

"No one, exactly, just--"

"Well," Melchior interrupted smoothly, "Someone must have. You don't think it's wrong all on your own, do you?"

"The woman's legs were bad enough! But this--!"

"Moritz. Where did you come up with the idea that wanting for a man is wrong?"

"I..." Moritz trailed off.

"It was fed to you. By the parentocracy. Just like they feed us their religion, their morals, their sick, perfect ideals. Maybe it's wrong, or maybe it's something else they want control over. I'm not taking the chance."

Melchior bit the last word off, fierce in his assurance. Finally, Moritz met his eyes. He stared, searching for truth, or at least certainty. Melchior's thumb stopped moving against his jaw. He could feel Moritz's heartbeat, hear every quiet breath. They were perfectly aligned now. It was too easy. Melchior leaned in and pressed his lips to Moritz's. 

It was a soft kiss, softer than Melchior would have liked, if he was being honest with himself. The hand at Moritz's jaw slid around to the back of his neck to guide him and the hand under his shirt coaxed him closer, deeper into the kiss. It wasn't too long, just a few seconds, but truly, it was heaven to Melchior. Moritz melted around him, inexperienced and perhaps a little frightened, but willing to try, willing to learn.

When Melchior pulled away, he searched the other boy's face for signs of distress and while there might have been a hint of one, Moritz's features read wonder more than anything else.

"Was that wrong?" Melchior asked.

Moritz raised a slender hand to cautiously touch his own lips.

"It might have been--"

Melchior was so close, so close. He could tell Moritz wanted it, wanted something. He had felt that, the wanting in him. Maybe he wasn't the only one harboring a fire in his belly.

"Did it feel wrong?"

Moritz shook his head.

"No?" Melchior prompted.

"No." Moritz confirmed.

Moritz was quite the picture; flushed, his dark hair tousled, his breath slightly shallow. Melchior could feel his heart speeding in his chest, even through the collared shirt he had fallen asleep in. 

Melchior wanted that shirt off, wanted to take in Moritz's sweet, slender frame slowly. Still, to move too quickly was to risk frightening the other boy and that would unravel whatever precious thing that was building between them.

Instead, he leaned in again to press slow, sweet kisses to Moritz's cheeks and nose.

"This--"

A kiss on the tip of his nose.

"Is what we make of it."

A kiss to his temple, just above his eyebrows.

"Right and wrong--"

A kiss on his left cheek.

"Are not theirs to define."

A kiss on his right cheek.

"If this feels right--"

A kiss at the jawline, a quiet whimper from Moritz.

"Let it be so."

Melchior's lips on his neck, testing. 

Melchior broke the contact only to sit all the way up in bed. He slid both hands to Moritz's back, then to his hips, and used them to pull Moritz up with him, so he was sitting squarely on his lap, legs splayed, one on either side of Melchior's thighs. Moritz squeaked at the sudden shift and hid his face in his hands.

Melchior thought about pulling those hands back, but decided against it. Giving him time to adjust was key. Melchior waited, hands steadied against Moritz's hips, until the boy peeked through his fingers on his own time.

"What mortal hymn is this?" he whispered.

"My favorite," Melchior replied.

Moritz slowly drew his hands away from his face, but seemed unsure as to where to put them. After a moment of deliberation, he pressed them to Melchior's chest, a decision he came to be thankful for when Melchior's lips returned to his neck and he found himself gripping Melchior's shirt in response.

Melchior took such simple pleasure in drawing sound out of Moritz. The heavy, labored breaths as his lips lavished up and down the boy's neck. The soft whine when he put pressure on one spot. The string of whimpers he elicited when he undid the first few buttons of Moritz's shirt and moved to his collarbones.

Moritz's hands tangled into the rumpled fabric of Melchior's shirt as he kissed his way down Moritz's chest. The labored breaths continued. It was only when Melchior hooked his fingers into the waistband of his britches that Moritz protested. 

He gasped before Melchior could make any further move and disentangled his hands from his friend's shirt to rest them carefully on his chest, a gesture that was something between tender and scared.

"What's wrong?" Melchior asked gently.

Moritz let out a shaky breath, trying to clear his head. He was almost to the point of panting.

"Melchi, I...I can't."

"Why not?"

Melchior's question wasn't accusatory, but it was firm. Moritz shifted on top of him and oh, God, his weight in new places did nothing to help.

"I don't know. But I can't," Moritz whispered, his words laden with apology.

He slid down slowly, trying to entice Melchior into laying with him again, into the familiar entanglement that suddenly seemed so much safer than whatever was tightening the air between them.

Melchior complied, grudgingly. The heat in his stomach had spread to his thighs and judging by the tightness of his britches, it wasn't going away any time soon.

"The sun will be up soon," Moritz said, "I can't...I couldn't..."

He wasn't articulating what he meant, but Melchior could feel the fear in him and he understood that, at least. He settled back into bed with him, gentle to the last.

Moritz slowly relaxed back onto Melchior's chest, but refused to lower his gaze. He was searching his friend's face for a sign of anger, gathering himself to do something.  
As the pair settled into the bedding again, Moritz leaned forward. Melchior saw his intent and raised his head to meet him, but allowed Moritz to close the gap.

And he did, and his inexperience showed at first. He pressed into the kiss slowly, almost teasingly and fumbled with the right angle for a moment before Melchior helped him along, tilting his own head. Melchior had enough sense to keep his hands wound loosely around Moritz's waist this time, allowing the other boy to set the rhythm. To his pleasant surprise, Moritz opened his mouth into the kiss and continued on. 

They broke for air a minute or two later, Moritz pulling away flushed and near panting again. He lowered himself down once again and relaxed against Melchior, fitting himself to the other boy's form. It was a comfort he knew, unlike whatever it was he had just indulged in and he was thankful to return to the familiarity.

Moritz nuzzled his nose into the curve of Melchior's neck, trying to find the beginning of sleep, the promise of a respite from what he was still half sure was sin.

Melchior gathered Moritz into his arms, pulling the boy closer, closer, as he had done so many times before.

There were more words to be said, but they could wait. There was no place for them in the darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> My first stab at posting fanfiction online. I wrote this one when I was up late. Your feedback is greatly appreciated!
> 
> \-- Seraph


End file.
